Underdog2018
by UnderdogFan1254
Summary: Of all the things that Shoeshine imagined came with vengeance for your friends, getting caught up in a bloody raid and an abduction of African royals sure weren't some of them!
1. Prologue

Way out wander lies the little kingdom of Bongo Congo. A peaceful land, where contented natives play contented songs on their contented drums; bongo drums: the principal product of the kingdom; in fact, the _only _product of the kingdom.

High in the purple castle, overlooking the land, sat good King Leonardo Lion on his throne, deep into his monthly stamp rearrangement. Leonardo was trying, anyhow, though at the moment his attention had been stolen away by a comic book.

From the side of the golden room entered a purple-cloaked skunk. He wore reading glasses and a large collar around his neck that a broken clock hung from. He also wore reading glasses and held papers, tapping them against his chest before walking closer toward the King.

"My liege," he said rather softly.

The King jumped regardless. One of his paws slammed into a music stand that held his stamp book, knocking it into the ground and scattering all the unstable stamps to the floor.

Odie instinctively rushed over and crouched down. "Allow me to gather those for you sire… I'm terribly sorry, sir."

"Oh, it's fine, Odie," the King reassured, shifting from his spread position across both armrests. He stood and crouched across from Odie, placing the stamps carelessly in his book for the moment. "I needed to sort through them, anyway."

Odie didn't stop, however. Eventually, he grabbed a very specific stamp: a green-blue lady with a pointed crown, holding a torch and standing against a waving, starry flag of red, white and blue.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said, catching the King's attention in a less destructive matter, "We're going to America in a… few days… for a good-will trip, to further our friendship and trade relation."

The King blinked, surprised. "So soon?"

"Yes," Odie replied, "I forgot until now."

"That's alright, Odie," the King answered, excitedly. He stood up and plopped his book into his throne before facing Odie once more. "Now, tell me, who are we meeting, where?"

"I'm not sure entirely…" Odie answered honestly, picking up his now-messier papers. "But, I can tell you that we have a week or two in advance to sight-see around New York City."

Unfortunately, Itchy Lion and Biggie Rat had heard about the tour of New York. With that, they had decided it would be the perfect opportunity to do away with the King and Odie, and had already flown to New York to make the necessary arrangements. Now the twosome were unpacking in a hotel room off Madison Avenue.

It was a dingy little place. It's walls were a gross, washed-out green and the drywall was falling off. The window didn't open and the radiator hardly worked. The bed was hardly enough to hold both of them and its blankets were bright orange. Plus, the dark, rain-washed landscape outside wasn't exactly making it feel any better. But, for the time being, it would work.

"Say, Big," Itchy wondered while looking out the window, half to himself and half to the rat, "What did we come to NYC for again?"

Biggie chuckled and hauled their suitcase up onto the bed. "Well! Kingsy's coming up here to make sure that America and Bongo Congo stay in cahoots." Biggie paused a moment and looked at Itchy over his shoulder. "Least to say, I've got some… _connections, _shall we say, to help us take him out."

Itchy had turned to Biggie as well. He rested a tan, tilted head on scarred arms and had one pricked ear. Itchy pursed his lips before replying, "We can't, like, do that back home?" Biggie turned around completely to face the lion. Itchy stepped away and faced him, raising his arms in confusion. "Like, what about Odie?" Itchy went on, "He could, like, trace it back to us, y'know? Why else would we both be here? Plus, he carries a dagger."

Biggie scoffed and smiled, spinning on his shoe heels back to the suitcase. "That Cologne won't live to tell the tale." Itchy rolled his eyes, defeated, and retreated back to looking out the window and into the rainy, smoggy scene of Manhattan. Biggie went on, brandishing a gun and looking in Itchy's direction. "If Leonardo doesn't return to the throne, that means that you're the next fully-grown blueblood there is. The people won't have any choice but to enstate you. _And, _if Leonardo's prime minister isn't there, there's no vocal opposition."

"Yeah…" Itchy acknowledged, disinterested. A bit louder, he continued, "So who are these _connections?" _he asked, making air quotes with his fingers on the word.

"NYC's dog-run branch of underground mafia," Biggie stated, matter-of-factly. Itchy furrowed his eyebrows and faced Biggie, confused. The rat continued, "Quite the crew."

"Huh…"

"Two dogs in the head," Biggie informed, rather carelessly tossing his gun in Itchy's direction. The lion caught it sloppily. "They held a priest at gunpoint to marry them," Biggie went on with a small laugh, "One of them is half wolf. There's a… a powerhouse malamute, a couple of promoted bank robbers and a tiger wrestler with rabies. He's a jailbreak… and that isn't even everyone."

Itchy padded closer and put the gun down on the bed. "But, uh," he alleged, "Doesn't America have animal-specific jails, like… _zoos?"_

Biggie chuckled and faced his partner, "You say that like we couldn't break out. Besides…" he stepped away from the suitcase and leaned into Itchy in a hug for a moment. Itchy grabbed back and Biggie leaned back out, though didn't release his grip. "...you think I'd let the police take you?"

Itchy giggled, moving one of his hands to tilt Biggie's head upward, giving him a solid kiss. Itchy pulled away a few seconds later and, suddenly interested, asked, "And we're meeting these, uh… _leaders, _when?"

"Two days from now," Biggie replied, "When the King and Odie arrive. That gives us a few days for planning, kidnapping, getting _you _all royaled up and… _executing."_


	2. Chapter 1

In a purple-painted room, a large figure laid completely under a red blanket. On the side of his bed, yellow curtains covered a window; though they were still bright with the sun outdoors. Suddenly, across the bed and on a table, the figure's phone lit up and music from a saxophone played out.

_c-a-b-b-a-g-e_

Under a red blanket, the figure shifted. Reluctantly, he poked the top of his head out from under the blanket, just hardly far enough to see. His phone screen was lit up with blue, though he couldn't see it clearly. Sighing, the figure extended one arm and held the phone just a few inches from his face.

He was getting a call from _Polly._

Grumbling, the tan, black-eared, black-freckled dog sat up and pressed the appropriate button to answer the call. Quickly tapping speaker, he set the phone back down on the bedside table.

"Hello…?"

"_Hey, Shoeshine."_

"What do you want?" Shoeshine yawned, stretching up and popping his arms.

Polly laughed and continued as Shoeshine rubbed his eyes and shifted off the bed. "_Wanna split the town with me before I go on set?"_

Shoeshine hummed and threw his blanket into the air. It didn't land very well, but fixing it was a problem for twilight Shoeshine. "Am I your only friend?"

"_We __live together__."_ Polly dryly replied.

Shoeshine tilted his head and walked further away, speaking just a bit louder. "You're right," he decided before kicking a red shirt laying on the carpet over. On it was a big, white _U. _"What are we doing?"

Polly was silent for a moment. "_...good question," _she finally said, followed by a laugh.

Shoeshine laughed as well, finally grabbing a hoodie as yellow as the flooring. It wasn't stained and, at most, smelled like their apartment. With the speed of lightning, Shoeshine chucked off his pink sleep shirt and replaced it with his binder, then the hoodie. Polly spoke again as he was fixing up his pants.

"_How's food sound?" _she asked, "_It's past noon."_

Shoeshine opened his mouth to reply, but his stomach beat him to the punch. A loud grumble sounded as Polly burst out laughing. Shoeshine turned his ears against his head and lit up red, embarrassed. He rushed over to his phone, turned off speaker, and held it up to his ear.

Polly, sniffling and still through laughter, finally replied, "_So I take that as a yes?"_

* * *

Less than twenty minutes later, the two had met up at a local cafe and sat at a wire-and-glass table outside. As their eating was coming to an end, Polly clapped her hands together.

"So, here's the plan," she said, sweeping a bit of her hair back and tightening the blazer tied around her waist. She furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, clearly not having a plan. Shoeshine smiled, trying to stop himself from laughing, when Polly finally continued. "We should… buy groceries."

"I need to get my prescription refilled," Shoeshine informed, bundling his trash together and giggling. "But you stole the car."

Polly nodded, standing to throw their trash away. "Did the Beagles tell you they had a show?" she asked.

Downcast, Shoeshine replied, "_Nooo…"_

Then it was Polly's turn to laugh. She sat down again and pulled her phone out of her shorts. "They do!" she chirped, "It's at some bar during happy hour."

"_Hellll yeeeahhh…"_ Shoeshine replied, "I'm gonna get hammered tonight! Where's the bar?"

At that, Polly placed her phone on the table and bundled her hands together. Glancing away from Shoeshine, she said, "Well… here's the thing." Shoeshine snorted before gritting his teeth, one hand shooting up to hold his mouth. Unfazed, Polly went on. "See, Stringer _doesn't _trust me with names, so he just gave me a link to directions."

"Can I have it?" Shoeshine asked, half genuine and half in a wheezy laugh. Polly nodded and stood, shoving her phone back into her pocket. Shoeshine stood as well.

"I'll text you in the car," she said. Shoeshine nodded.

Little did Shoeshine know, however, that just across the street from their table, a tear-off flyer was stabled to a telephone pole. A car drove past the pole, which was the final straw for the flyer. It tore from its stable and followed the car, getting battered around in other various breezes.

Finally, though, the paper was stopped by the side of a tan dog with black ears, wind throwing it right into the side of his face.


	3. Chapter 2

The blue-suited dog, who was once getting out of a black cadillac, immediately shot back down into his seat to investigate what had struck him. He slammed the door of the car angrily while pulling the paper off and grumbling. Beside him, a wolfsky unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted closer. The samoyed in the driver's seat turned around to face the two.

"What is it, Taptap?" asked the wolfsky.

Taptap finished reading the page then, and his tan muzzle split was with a big, sinister smile. He turned to his partner and waved the paper beside his face.

"How does going downtown and watching _The Beagles _preform tonight sound, Riff?" Taptap asked.

Riff furrowed his eyebrows and glanced between the paper and Taptap in disinterest and confusion.

"Well," Taptap replied, tearing the page in half. "How does… _shooting up _and _robbing _a pub sound?"

Riff rolled his eyes and leaned back into his seat. He hummed a moment, then replied, "I mean… we don't have anything better to do tonight, now that we're loitering around a bank instead of robbing it… How big's the place?"

"Ringside," Taptap replied absent-mindedly.

Riff seemed surprised, but Mallie, their driver, just stared on in confusion.

"But why rob a small place when you can rob a big one?" she asked, counting on her fingers to indicate her point, "More _alcohol, _more _money…"_

Taptap was crumbling up the flier now, "Big places can file lawsuits."

"They won't find us," Mallie retorted with a scoff.

"I'd rather have less cash than spend a lifetime in jail," Riff snapped, turning to Mallie. He then softened his voice and continued, facing his seatmate. "What time's the show, Taps?"

"7:30."

Riff hummed and scooted the sleeve of his pinstripe suit up just a bit to reveal a gold watch that Taptap had stolen for him. "What'll we do in the meantime?" he asked, "It's hardly four."

"Rob another bank," Mallie stated dryly, adjusting her mirror, "Sitting around this one is making me nervous."

Taptap and Riff glanced at eachother before shrugging.

"Two Cents?" asked Taptap.

"Two Cents." Riff confirmed.

Mallie rolled her eyes, but didn't complain. She stepped on the gas and quickly the cadillac rocketed out of sight. As she drove, Taptap rolled down his window. The wind momentarily blew his ears all around his face and the backseat, covering one of his eyes.

With a grumble of annoyance, Taptap chucked the crumbled paper out of the car window before rolling it back up. He huffed and tried to flatten down the fur on his long, black ears. Unsatisfied but unwilling to fix further, the tan mutt reached into the storage bag attached to the back of the passenger seat. He pulled out a pistol and swapped out the magazine.


	4. Chapter 3

7:30 rolled around much quicker than either Shoeshine or Polly had expected it. They had forgotten the time so much, in fact, that it was 7:45 by the time they got to Ringside.

Polly got her license from inside her phone case while Shoeshine took his out of his wallet. He quickly spun up a tale of how his appearance and Underdog's was just a coincidence, and he soon entered at Polly's side.

Ringside wasn't even close to packed. Then again, the place was rather dim, so the only things either Polly or Shoeshine could make out were white skin and white pelts.

Polly hadn't changed out of her work attire since she got off the clock, so her hair was down and her red half-blazer was still firmly on her person. Shoeshine, who did not have a job, didn't look any different from when he and Polly had eaten lunch together. Shoeshine hung close to the taller woman, each of them scanning the room for either of the Beagles.

"There they are," Shoeshine informed, squinting behind his glasses, as he pointed at two brown dogs and one gray. They stood on the far end of the building, next to a stage with a soft, yellow light overhead. Polly followed his arm.

"Oh!" she exclaimed before padding over. Shoeshine was right on her tail.

The tallest, who wore a leather jacket and a green sweater, jumped as he noticed Shoeshine and Polly coming toward him. He soon settled though, and tapped his partner, a stout beagle in a red sweater, on the shoulder. The taller dog's tail went wild as both the beagle and the gray scottish terrier turned to face their fellow dogs.

"Hi!" greeted Tubby, the short beagle, perking up. Stringer, the tallest, beamed and clapped his hands together excitedly while Scotty, the terrier, didn't change either his expression or body.

"We didn't think you were coming!" Stringer added.

"You didn't fuckin' invite me!" Shoeshine retorted jokingly.

The four of them laughed while the Beagle's agent smiled.

After calming down, Polly asked, "Have you written anything else lately?"

"You'll find out, won'tcha?" Tubby replied sassily. Polly giggled again.

"Good luck," Shoeshine smiled with a small salute. He then elbowed Polly's arm. "Let's get a drink."

Polly nodded, so the two made their way toward the shelf and barstools.

"Who's driving home?" she asked.

"You," Shoeshine replied, "I drove here."

Polly pursed her lips and let out a disappointed hum.

The Beagles didn't start quite yet, though, but the night was going alright despite that. A strange white man had started hitting on Polly and bought her a drink at some point. She drank it before Shoeshine, already pretty drunk, became her temporary boyfriend.

Finally, at eight o'clock, Stringer and Tubby stepped on stage and began to play.

"_I won't, forget, that night we met…."_

_("a moonlit night in june._

_who could be told?_

_all bathed in gold,_

_thanks to the man in the moon.")_

The sounds of the song played, albeit muffled, on the outside wall of Ringside. In a dark alley just beside the brick-red bar stood Riff Raft, alongside two other Animal-Americans. One was a brown tabby cat in an equally as brown suit, and the other was a German Shepherd in a blue trenchcoat.

"I don't like being separated from Pretzel," said the shepherd, voice extremely scratchy.

"You're a coward, Rocky Maninoff!" the cat laughed, "Dyna's not here and you don't see me complaining!"

Rocky bared his teeth and shoved the cat against the wall by her broad shoulders. He held his pistol to her jaw. "You wanna get fuckin' hurt, Sandy Safecrack?"

"_Quit it!" _Riff snapped, smacking Rocky in his back. The two stepped away from eachother, Sandy starting to fiddle with her hammer and Rocky unloading and reloading his magazine.

Riff huffed angrily, then turned to the back of the building. As soon as he did, he saw a pink fox pop out from around the corner. The fox waved his arms in the air before giving a thumbs up. Riff turned back to his partners.

"Take out the bouncer."

_("i'll ask for you,_

_you'll say 'i do'.")_

"_Thanks to the man in the moon!_

_Thanks to the man in the moon!_

_Thanks to the-"_

The Beagles' song was soon interrupted with a bang. Scotty immediately tapped at one of the speakers, though was stopped dead in his tracks when a wolfsky, German Shepherd and brown tabby cat entered the building. All three brandished guns, and all three held them up, ready to fire. The wolfsky seemed to point his pistol right at Stringer. Tubby extended his arm in front of his fiance protectively, holding the neck of his bass tightly as if he planned to use it as a weapon.

"Don't move and nobody gets hurt," the wolfsky snarled.

"And don't say anything either!" the tabby exclaimed.

A white cat in a red cloak sat the closest to the attackers. With a yowl, they jumped up from their seat and punched the tabby in her face. The tabby elbowed their stomach with a yowl of her own. The other two attackers watched for a moment, just long enough for the barflies to rush out the back exit.

"_Go!" _Scotty whisper-yelled, ushering his clients off-stage. Stringer was whimpering and sobbing while both Tubby and Scotty looked horrified and nervous. Shoeshine quickly stood up from his stool, and made a step in the attackers direction. Polly hurriedly grabbed her drunken partner's hand, however, and rushed the both of them out behind Scotty.

They were in a dark hallway, with a bathroom for either sex on both side of them. Scotty stood in front of the crowd, frozen. Polly, anxious, whispered something in Tubby's direction, but Shoeshine didn't hear. He leaned around Tubby and Stringer to see three Animal-Americans blocking the emergency exit.

The dog on the left was a Shiba Inu in a brown trenchcoat, and the fox on the right was pink. They both held guns and both looked like they were waiting for the unarmed dogs to move first. That wasn't what intrigued Shoeshine, though.

In between the two Animal-American groops stood a tan and black dog. A tan and black dog who looked just like Shoeshine, their only differences were Shoeshine's freckles, Shoeshine's gut, and the other dog's height. What was worse, though, was the pistol he held to Scotty's forehead. Scotty was shivering, with his hands up and extended against his chest.

Shoeshine's vision flashed red.

Without a word, the mutt rolled up one of his yellow hoodie sleeves and rushed forward. The other dog's eyes lit up, and he quickly readjusted his aim at Shoeshine. His two accomplices fired. Shoeshine punched the other dog first, though, before he could shoot at him.

The other dog stumbled to his knees and paused, clenching his jaw with the hand that didn't once hold a firearm, and looked Shoeshine up and down. Shoeshine tensed the muscles in his arms and waited. Shoeshine's punch had knocked the pistol out of the other dog's hand. It shone red in the lights of the exit sign.

It didn't last long, though, as the blue-suited dog grabbed it from the floor and hopped to his feet. The speed of the motion knocked another red-glowing silver object across the floor, though Shoeshine didn't notice. The tall dog shot at Shoeshine, but the bullet didn't seem to land. The other dog was not deterred at all and, instead, kept smirking.

_God, _he had the same gap in his teeth as Shoeshine, too.

The dog's other accomplices had fled from the other sides of the door, so he made his move. The taller dog held his gun to Shoeshine's head and kneed the space between his legs. It didn't effect Shoeshine much in terms of pain, but it put him in just enough shock for his doppleganger to spin him around. Shoeshine didn't realize what was happening fast enough and the taller dog kicked the small of his back out the metal door.

Shoeshine nearly had a flashback, but the concrete met his face before it could fully form…


	5. Chapter 4

The other four unarmed dogs left soon after that, not that Taptap minded whatsoever.

"I shot that terrier," Pretzel, the Shiba Inu, informed, "He sure looked a lot like Prescott, didn't he?"

Taptap nodded curtly, then turned his vision to the Fox.

"_(I broke that fat beagle's wrist,)" _he signed, "_(I think Riff attacked him outside but I heard Riff scream, so I don't know how that worked out.)"_

That _wasn't _what Taptap wanted to hear, his smirk twitched a moment and his lips fell to cover his teeth. Taptap took a short breath through his nose, soon clapping his hands together and showing his teeth again.

"Very good," he said, "Sandy and Rocky are waiting in the car, I bet. Hurry out before the cops get here…"

Neither Pretzel nor Fox needed to be told twice. As soon as they left, Taptap let his smile drop as he put his gun on the right inner pocket of his suit. He kneeled down to look at the small, second silver object. An object, it seemed, only noticed by him.

It was a ring, silver and tapered. Instead of featuring a stone on its head, though, it held a small box. It was held on simply by claws and, rather than a center stone on the box, an uppercase U was engraved. Taptap let out a breath and found himself smirking again.

"Oh my _god…." _he chuckled, standing, and shoved the ring of New York's greatest Animal-American hero in the pocket opposite his gun. With a final look around the hall, brighter now that moonlight and streetlights from the outside world flooded in, Taptap padded out.

A car could only fit so many people, of course, so Taptap and Riff Raft had a different car than Sandy and everyone else did.

Riff was leaning against the driver side door of their light blue caddy. He was smoking a cigarette and clutched the base of his forearm like gravity had stopped and that was the one thing keeping him rooted.

"Took you long enough," Riff scoffed, stomping out his cigarette.

"I was worried about you too," Taptap cooed.

Riff rolled his eyes and smiled, walking around the front of the car and stepping in the passenger side. Taptap entered the door in front of him and settled in. Sirens were faintly calling then, but neither seemed too concerned. Taptap backed out of the alley and started driving back toward their hideout.

Riff didn't buckle his seatbelt, as per usual. But he didn't say anything about how it went, or whether or not the scream Fox had heard was him or not, or why he was holding his arm for dear life, which was unusual. Taptap couldn't help but keep glancing over. That was his husband, after all. And this was weird.

Finally, Taptap parked around the back of their hideout and leaned back into his seat. Riff looked up at Taptap, and the tan mutt returned the glare.

"Are you alright?" asked Taptap.

"Fuck no…" replied the wolfsky.

Taptap immediately leaned up and over, ready to hold whatever hurt. Riff didn't let him, though, instead he opened the door with his good hand and entered the darkness of the forest around them. Taptap quickly followed, ready to dote on his husband.

Riff frowned though, and didn't say anything. He got up the steps of their back door in one hop and opened the white door stuck in the fake tree. They continued to pad through the dark downstairs and light blue hallway at the stairwells end in silence. In the main room, the yells and music implied that the rest of their gang was already getting hammered.

Riff didn't enter the living room, though. Instead he entered the bathroom, which sat on the opposite wall between their two Secret Rooms. Taptap was frowning and looked worried, with each of his hands clasped on the opposite elbow behind his back. He waited patiently in front of the door and tapped his foot against the blue carpet.

Riff cursed lightly, his voice breaking up just slightly. It was quite a long time later when Riff came out, with a small sniffle and red eyes. Without another sound, Riff skirted the edge of the living room and padded down the stairs. He entered his and Taptap's bedroom, the first room on the right, and slammed the door. Taptap took a deep breath in and out before coming in after.

"Riff…" he whispered.

"I'm _fine, _okay?" Riff snapped, unbuttoning his blazer. Taptap leaned sideways, and got a glimpse of the arm Riff was once holding.

Taptap jumped, "Well, that's a cast!" he exclaimed.

Riff froze, then sighed. It wasn't a proper one, of course not, it was two socks, some toilet paper and gauze. Riff chucked his blazer on the floor without another acknowledgement.

"Sugar…" Taptap whispered.

Riff rolled his eyes and turned around, "I'm pretty sure it's just a greenstick, okay?" he exclaimed, half hurried and half angry, "I've broken my limbs before. It's fine."

"_You broke your fuckin' arm, Riff!"_

Riff snapped, "It's fine! How are you?"

Taptap didn't reply for a moment. After a few seconds, he finally said, "Got in a fight."

"Is that what that bruise on your jaw is?" Riff asked. Taptap touched his face self-consciously, making Riff laugh. "I hope it wasn't too pathetic a defeat."

Taptap hummed as he recalled the fight and his opponent. He took the gun out of his suit and put it on the table that Riff stood in front of. "He was shorter than me," Taptap informed, sitting on the edge of their bed, "Rounder. Significantly. Maybe a bit younger."

"What I'm hearing is that a child beat you up," Riff laughed.

Taptap rolled his eyes, "It was a bar, he couldn't be too young." Taptap leaned forward, pulling Riff closer by his hips. He flopped over in their bed, dragging Riff down with him. A spring snapped, but neither minded. Taptap kissed Riff's neck gently before the wolfsky pried himself off.

"Don't just pull me into bed!" Riff laughed, "You got beat up by some kid."

Taptap huffed and looked tiredly up at his husband. "Underdog," he informed, "It was Underdog."

Riff's orange gaze hardened. "You- _what?"_

"I fought Underdog."

"Y-y-you…" Riff stuttered, "You _fought Underdog, _and you _let him go!" _He paused a few moments, looking down at Taptap. A strained smile was on his face, as he whispered, "I don't believe you."

Taptap rolled his eyes and frowned. "Why would you want to keep Underdog around anyway?" he asked, "Last I checked you were scared of him."

Riff grumbled and crossed his arms.

"Fine," Taptap sighed, rolling onto his back and reaching into his inner left pocket. The ring was still there, so he pulled it out. Riff's eyes seemed to glitter for a moment. "Does this make you believe me?"

Riff reached forward to take it from the palm of his husband's tan hand. He put it in his own white palm and dragged a black claw through the indent. "Is this… real?" he whispered.

Taptap sat up and tapped his own claw against the top. It made a distinctly metallic clink. "...it's not plastic, no," he concluded. "And by the way…"

Taptap turned the ring in his direction and caught his nail on the top half of a tiny slide clasp, and pulled it up. Inside the silver box was a red softness, and in the middle sat a red pill.

"That's real."

Riff stared in shock for a moment at the ring and its contents before closing the clasp again. He held it between his hands for a few moments more before setting it on the bedside table and turning off the bright lamp. Riff faced Taptap once again, and didn't hesitate to grab his blue lapel and pull him in for a deep kiss. Taptap did not object.

"Taptap," Riff whispered as he pulled away, "I love you."


	6. Chapter 5

In a purple-painted room, a figure laid on top of a red blanket. Beside his bed, yellow curtains were open in front of a window. The outside world was bright with sun but dark with the attached fire escape.

Shoeshine was not _nearly _as comfortable as he was yesterday morning. Luckily, now he was only half-conscious. Polly was his interim caretaker until he woke up. Her boss, OJ Skweeze, had let her off work that day. She _had _just been involved in a gun altercation, after all.

Polly brought in a damp washrag and a glass of water, as well as a handful of pills. Two of them were just over-the-table painkillers, but the third, red one was Shoeshine's testosterone pill.

As soon as the damp green cloth went over Shoeshine's eyes, he gasped and jumped. Polly jumped herself. She then chuckled as Shoeshine, wide-eyed, quickly pried the rag off his face.

"Hey you," she said, "You're finally awake."

"_Shut the fuck up."_

Shoeshine rolled his eyes and grabbed his glasses off his bedside table as Polly laughed. He hummed a low, disappointed note as one of the arms fell after he flicked them open. Shoeshine put them on regardless, though, and grabbed the glass of water and the pills. Polly sat down on the foot of his bed, wearing a dark blue sweater. Shoeshine was still in the clothes he was wearing last night. Though, after one sip of water, he threw off his red cardigan.

Taking another sip of water, Shoeshine asked, "What happened last night?"

"We had a huge _bacchanal,"_ Polly replied with a wink.

"I don't know what that word means, Polly," Shoeshine answered, taking the handful of pills at once.

"That'll kill you one day, you know," Polly said.

"Good," Shoeshine replied. "Really, though, what happened?"

Polly took a deep breath in and out and shifted her position. She sat criss-cross facing Shoeshine and had her hands clasped together.

"Well. You and some guy got into a fight," she started.

"Right."

"And he pushed you out of the bar," Polly continued, "And you ate concrete and passed out."

"Ah."

"Yeah," Polly sighed, "But. You're okay, right?"

Shoeshine quickly patted himself up and down. He snaked his arms into the torso of his shirt and soon tossed a short, gray tanktop over his head. He nodded and said, "I think so. Are you? Is everyone?"

Polly hesitated, then replied, "_...aaaah,"_ before stopping again. She took in another deep breath and elaborated, "Stringer and I are fine. Physically, anyway. Uh… Tubby got his arm broke and. Um. Scotty… Scotty got shot."

Shoeshine choked on his sip of water. He made a sound and thumped the side of his palm against his chest before forcing himself to swallow. With a clear of his throat, Shoeshine exclaimed, "_SCOTTY GOT SHOT?!"_

Polly started to rapidly wave her arms in front of her face, smiling awkwardly. "It was just his arm, he's fine!" she explained. Shoeshine huffed and stared, wide-eyed, down at his legs. He furrowed his eyebrows and set his glass back on the table before shooting up.

"I'm going to kill them!" he concluded, clapping his hands together. He then faced Polly, "Help me find my cape."

Shoeshine lifted his leg to step forward, but it did not work. Instead, it started lifting and Shoeshine flailed his arms wildly as he lost his balance. Eventually, he flopped, on his back, down into the bed again. He let out an angry breath while Polly laughed.

"Bit of a problem there, Mr. Clark," she said, quickly gaining her composure.

"Oh, yeah?" Shoeshine replied, half angry and half sarcastic.

"Yeah, Ringside doesn't have cameras."

"_That's _not a very good decision!"

Polly chuckled, "And there weren't that many people there. There was one bartender and one bouncer, and most of the barflies left before _we _got cornered. And the cops didn't show up very soon anyway."

"They got forensics, don't they?"

"These criminals were… professionals, Shoeshine," Polly informed, moving to lay down the opposite way beside her roommate, crossing her pale, bare legs against the wall.

Shoeshine crossed his arms and sighed, placing his feet on the side of his mattress. "_We _saw their faces, Polly," he argued, "I don't know much about how the police work, but I know there's a few databases."

"I don't know how they work either," Polly sighed, "But even if I _did, _there's, like, eight-and-a-half million people just in Manhattan, and nearly twenty million in New York State. And… what, less than a fifth of those are Animal-Americans? That's still a huge number. Face it, Shoeshine," she concluded, sitting up, "It'd take years. And I'm not even accounting for the fact they might not be here legally, or registered."

Shoeshine still looked up angrily. He lidded his eyes half-way and shifted his gaze from the ceiling to the far wall as Polly spoke. He let out a low hum to acknowledge he'd heard, so Polly continued.

"Not to mention how many… look-alikes there must be," she said, "That person you fought looked _exactly _like you."

Shoeshine slowly sat up as well and glanced up at the poodle. He shrugged, "We can lessen our options, can't we?"

Polly hummed and sighed, crossing her arms before looking down to the bed, laughing and smiling. "I guess!" she exclaimed, then looked up again at Shoeshine. The bed squeaked as he stood. "Something tells me I shouldn't trust either of us with information like this," she concluded.

Shoeshine held a finger to his mouth, his brows still furrowed, deep in thought. He faced Polly, his eyes twinkling for a moment before pointing at the poodle with his finger. "You're right," he concluded. Polly clutched her stomach, bending her knees up and heartily laughing into them. "Police station?" he asked, catching the pale poodle's attention.

Polly looked up at him, eyes watery and beaming. She shrugged, so Shoeshine continued. The finger returned to his mouth and he placed a hand on his hip. He spoke half to himself and half to Polly.

"Surely they can hook us up with something to start with," he said, softly, "right?"


	7. Chapter 6

Polly, what with being a reporter, and a damn good one, hung around the police station rather often. She'd made a friend there, in fact, in the Irish-accented German Shepherd named Finn Flanagan.

She quickly spotted him, in a very loud argument with a gray-muzzled basset hound. Finn's ears were back and his arms were crossed.

"I'm _going _to take this case, Finn!" the basset hound insisted loudly, "There _have _to be victims! It wouldn't be _known _if there weren't!"

Shoeshine quietly grabbed Polly's arm and dragged her forward between the desks. The two stood silently, _awkwardly, _in front of the fighting dogs. Finn rolled his eyes and glanced away from the basset hound as he finished speaking. The shepherd soon perked up as he noticed Polly, his ears lifting and tail wagging. The basset hound straightened the collar on his trenchcoat and followed the cop's gaze.

"Polly!" Finn greeted. Polly smiled tightly and gave a small wave with her free arm. "Whatever's the matter?"

"_Uh-" _Polly started, glancing at Shoeshine nervously. He nodded, so Polly cleared her throat and went on. "We're looking for a… private investigator."

Finn chuckled and unlocked one arm to point at the dog in front of him. "Well," he laughed, "_This _is the Hunter."

The Hunter shifted the weight on his legs and flattened his suit again. "Well," he spoke with a very heavy Southern accent, "I just took a case…" The Hunter passed Finn a half-angry glare, then snapped his fingers and beamed.

"Don't you dare," Finn threatened quietly.

"Do either of you happen to be involved in Ringside?" The Hunter asked with a smug smile on his face, completely ignoring the officer.

Shoeshine and Polly glanced at eachother before they started laughing. Shoeshine wiped his eye and hummed as Polly replied, "That's _just _what we came for."

The Hunter handed them his business card and all of them, Finn included, headed up to his office to draw up a contract. The Hunter was nice and only charged a starting fee, just because he was so passionate for the Ringside case. The Hunter referred to Shoeshine as "_son," _once, and the mutt's spirits lifted straight up.

Shoeshine's spirits were lifted so much, in fact, that after they had signed the contract, Shoeshine and Polly were heading over to the Beagle's. Neither of them believed that this was either of the Beagle's jobs, of course not, but the Hunter had insisted that whoever they knew were involved be questioned.

"I'm still not sure I understand why you're interested in this," Stringer commented, tuning his guitar on the couch. Tubby sat on the arm beside him while Shoeshine and Polly stood near the door. Stringer shrugged, "A place Tubby and I were performing at got shot up. They stole money and they stole alcohol," Stringer then softened his voice and looked up at his fiance, notably his arm, stuck in a red cast. He sighed, "Neither of our instruments got damaged… Tubby did, but he's healing fine."

A knot twisted in Shoeshine's stomach for a minute, and he found himself nearly yelling before he could stop himself. "_EXACTLY! _Tubby got hurt! You deserve justice!"

Tubby sighed and rolled his eyes, "You realize we don't… have anything, right?" he asked, snappily. "Some people came in and just started attacking. If they were fans or if Stringer or I knew them they might not've…" Tubby lifted his casted arm and waved at it with his normal one, "...you know."

"We'll ask Scotty to talk to y'all," Stringer hurriedly interrupted before Shoeshine or Tubby could say anything else. He glanced between the two pale dogs and the door they stood in front of, "But we can't really give you anything. Sorry."

Polly quickly grabbed onto Shoeshine's arm, clearly picking up on Stringer's subtext. "That's fine!" she chirped, shoving Shoeshine out of the room, "Please do! Tell us if you find anything!"

With that, she closed the door and faced Shoeshine. He was deep in thought again, with his finger and all.

Polly sighed and leaned against the Beagle's door, "I'm starting to think we don't have any leads. You?"

"_IIIII thiiiink…" _Shoeshine drawled, pointing ahead of him, "We should tell the Hunter and find out where Scotty lives. C'mon."

The two quickly left their building and headed out into the street. Shoeshine had one hand in his hoodie pocket and one against his mouth, while Polly held her arms lazily at her sides.

"Once we get a clear idea of who they are," Shoeshine said, half to himself and half to Polly, "I'm going Underdog on their pathetic asses."

"Uh, excuse me?" A voice came from behind them. It didn't sound malicious or upset, it didn't even sound like a response to Shoeshine's statement.

That didn't stop the two dogs from jumping, though. Shoeshine looked behind him quickly, letting out a small breath once he saw a scruffy-looking penguin in a dress shirt and suspenders.

"Yes?" asked the mutt.

"I was wondering if you had seen an eagle or yak in…" The penguin asked, his voice high and clippy as he fanned his torso, "similar attire? We got separated at the Megapolis Zoo Stick-Up and I… need to find them. Desperately."

"Megapolis Zoo Stick-Up," Shoeshine repeated, holding his jaw again and thinking. He turned to Polly and whispered, "I think we found a lead!"

Facing the penguin once again, Shoeshine cleared his throat.

"We haven't, no. But, we're trying to solve another crime case and _I _think you could be of some help. What's your name, sir?"

The penguin's eyes glittered a moment. He smiled and laughed a bit, clutching the loose cloth on his chest. "T-Tennessee," he answered, "Tennessee Tuxedo. I, uh, don't have anything to keep contact with you, though."

"Do you have a place to stay?" Polly piped up.

Tennessee chuckled gravely. "Not legally."

"You can stay with Polly and I, Tennessee," Shoeshine stated boldly, closing his eyes. Polly furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Shoeshine, a mixture of shock and confusion on her face. Shoeshine looked over to his roommate, who was looking Tennessee up and down.

He had dirty spats on his orange webbing, and black pants strained and nearly torn around the knee. They were held up with black suspenders. He only wore a dress shirt, not a blazer. Some areas of his feathers seemed rather thin, and a few white scars littered his black arms.

Polly shrugged and turned away, starting to walk away. Tennessee looked to Shoeshine nervously. The dog nodded enthusiastically, wagging his tail. Shoeshine hopped along the pavement after Polly, though after a few steps, glanced over his shoulder for Tennessee to follow.

Tennessee's eyes got watery for a moment, though he wiped the back of his hand against them and smiled. "Thank you," he whispered. Shoeshine nodded, smiling kindly.


	8. Chapter 7

It had been two days since the Ringside Stick-Up, and Polly had to return to her job. Shoeshine still didn't have a job, so he had spent his days trying to find more info about who could've done Ringside.

It quickly led to a dead end, though. So, in between a few _errands_ every now and again, Shoeshine had spent his time learning about Tennessee Tuxedo, his new roommate. Things he'd found out he kept written down.

Tennessee Tuxedo was 27 years old, and he had been a resident of the former Megapolis Zoo since he was 17. How he'd gotten there was not something he would tell Shoeshine. Tennessee also had friends at the zoo, though Shoeshine didn't get their whereabouts currently. In fact, when he asked the question, Tennessee glanced away and his eyes glistened with a note of uncertainty.

"What are the last four digits of your social security number?" Shoeshine asked with a slight laugh in his voice.

"I dunno, Shoes," Tennessee replied, standing up from the purple couch. "I dunno if I _have _one, even."

Shoeshine blinked and followed the penguin. Tennessee waddled into the short hallway in between the edge of the kitchen and Shoeshine's bedroom. It was the only street-facing window that wasn't blocked by anything mildly painful; only the radiator sat under it. Tennessee hummed quietly as he looked outside the window.

"I've never seen a Broadway street so empty," he commented, leaning against the sill.

Shoeshine couldn't hardly see out the window from his space. He stood a foot or two away from Tennessee, leaning against the kitchen wall.

The twosome had watched the TTV News broadcast that morning, as Shoeshine always did. Having a job that psychically paid you was something of Polly's that Shoeshine gravely envied; though waking up at five in the morning everyday wasn't anything Shoeshine much cared for.

He had a lot of lapdog in him, what could be say?

That morning, however, Polly was not on the channel. Which was strange, because she wasn't in the apartment either. Fast as lightning, Shoeshine had bundled up a certain set of clothes. However Polly's boss, OJ Skweeze, stopped Shoeshine before he could get too worried.

"And today, dear friends!" announced the gravelly-voiced man, "We have a big event! The city of Manhattan is pleased to announce that two royals from the African country of Bongo Congo are making our acquaintance. Today at ten o'clock, King Leonardo Lion and his prime minister Odie O. Cologne will be having a ticker tape parade down Broadway! And our very own anchorwoman, Ms. Sweet Polly Purebred, will be reporting live from the scene!"

They then flashed a map of the route on the screen. Shoeshine examined it carefully, though Tennessee pointed at it and drowsily asked, "Isn't that the street we're on?"

Shoeshine nodded, which brought the both of them back to the present.

"The roads are probably blocked off," Shoeshine finally replied. He squinted as he realized a line of white had made itself known across his glasses. The dog removed them from his face and caught one arm under the yellow hoodie he hadn't taken off since he put it on, and started to rub the lenses. "Wouldn't've thought it was going under my apartment. This isn't exactly a place you'd think of when you hear _Broadway."_

Tennessee chuckled and faced Shoeshine. "The more you know, huh?" he said before turning further around and looking completely behind him. "Whatever happened to Polly, Shoes?" the penguin asked.

"Oh…" Shoeshine replied, putting his glasses back on. "Well, Polly's a reporter. She's up closer to Broadway with her news team, left before you were wake."

Tennessee let out a humm of acknowledgement and looked out into the empty street once more.

"...might I say," Shoeshine continued. Tennessee stared at him from the corner of his eye. "You are a _suuuper _deep sleeper."

Tennessee chuckled. "I haven't felt a pillow or back support in years."

Shoeshine laughed back. "I didn't know my couch was good at _comfort!"_

Tennessee spun on his heel to face Shoeshine, a smile splitting his beak. "I won't complain about somewhere safe to sleep!" he replied with another laugh.


End file.
